Hilie iL^atkes S'lanal iaralkriei tglhU 3?icte>ri«l Some llampMiioJi 
and that the consuming trouble of his mind would not let 
him sleep at night, for she heard him moving restlessly in 
his own room, or trampling the gravel paths long after the 
others were asleep. Her mind was filled with pity, and 
love, and inexpressible dread of what might happen. It 
was this which had led her to creep out under the stars 
that still November night. 
Yirginie held clasped in her hand a scrap of paper which 
had come to her wrapped around the stalks of a little nose¬ 
gay of blush roses, borne in on the tray by old Nanna, 
when she brought her tea. 
“ Car’s a posey for you, honey,” said the old woman, 
beaming on her with maternal fondness. “ Mass’r Brad¬ 
ley sent it. He’s a notion you’se powerful lonesome; 
and little Miss says she’ll have you toted down stairs to- 
morrer and took a drive in de kerridge. Don’t look so 
peaked and scart like, honey. I’d be a-thinkin’ you was 
a mighty sight better ef I could see you larf. Your eyes 
are too big and solemn. ’Twont do to be alius a-thinkin’ 
and a-thinkin’, and a-broodin’ and a-broodin’,” and the 
great black hand caressed the little wan cheek. 
As soon as she had trotted away, Yirginie with trem¬ 
bling fingers unwound the thin paper from the flower- 
stalks, and saw that there were words written upon it. 
As well as her agitation would allow, she read as fol 
lows: 
“ Dearest, if you do not see and speak to me, I shall 
break bounds. I cannot longer endure this state of agony 
and suspense. I dared not speak to W. while you were 
lying low, but now she must learn that I am yours, body 
and soul, for life and death. ’ It was like the torture of 
the doomed to be kept away from you in your delirium. 
I thought I should go mad, and now I abhor myself for 
the part I have to play. Oh, my darling! my life! my 
love! have pity on me. Send me a single word by old 
Nanna, whom you may trust, and earn my eternal grati¬ 
tude.” 
How could she leave him and break his noble, generous 
heart! But through all the agony of that hour she still 
meant to be true to herself, and loyal to what seemed her 
duty to her triend. With heart breaking prayers and sobs, 
the poor child crept down the avenue under the dark 
trees, that stretched out menacing arms, and made shadows 
that frightened her. She carried a little bag too heavy for 
her feeble strength, and in shifting it from one hand to the 
other, felt something rough and hairy thrust itself up 
against her side. 
“ Hector, is it you, dear old fellow?” He gave a leap 
and a quick glad bark. She remembered that since the 
alarm of burglars, he had been let out of the kennel to 
protect the place at night. “ Go back, sir,” she said in a 
firm, low voice, but the creature would not leave her; he 
leapt to her shoulder and caressed her face, and at last she 
was fain to let him trot beside her, thinking he would soon 
turn homeward. 
The Muster cottage was there before her with no light 
in the dark window, for Jake was out again; and had 
crawled up to the Hall once or twice to inquire after his 
friend. She thought, with a pang, that this poor boy was 
the only being who had loved her there she had not 
harmed. Ill and weak, and out alone in the darkness, oh, 
how she longed for a haven of rest. Life had been un¬ 
kind to linger on in her when she yearned for the sleep 
that knows no waking. Her heart was torn in pieces by 
pity and love and remorse; her strength was sorely broken, 
but still she kept on through the ghostly trees, terrified 
with every sound, but resolute to crawl forward while 
breath remained. 
She could hear the lapping of the waves against the 
shingle, and once the temptation came to end all by a leap 
in the dark water; but she put it away with a shudder as 
she hurried on as rapidly as her feebleness would allow 
She felt her knees tottering under her, and there were 
strange dizzy turns, and flashes of pain through her head, 
and creeping chills, and tremors in her limbs. Sometimes 
she laid hold of tire bushes by the way, or stopped to pant, 
and clasp her throbbing side. 
There was a little flask of wine in her bag, some of that 
which the doctor had ordered. She felt for it once or 
twice, and put it to her lips, hardly couscious that old Hec¬ 
tor was still pattering along by her side. 
Yirginie was no courageous heroine, but a weak, timor¬ 
ous girl, frightened by the moaning of the night wind, and 
the step of any small woodland creature that came across 
her path ; but as she went forward through the darkness, 
all fear was taken away, and she seemed walking through 
the valley of the shadow of death, with her mother’s hand 
clasped in hers. She looked up at the stars that sparkled 
with frosty brightness, and reassured herself by keeping 
her face steadily fixed toward Hopedale, the little town on 
the railroad ten miles distant, where she had told Mrs. 
Walcourt to direct her letter. She had never been to 
that remote village, but she knew the road that led there. 
It was a place with which Winnifred had no associations. 
The road was not hard to find even in the dark. She 
took the right hand turn and skirted some fields and fences 
until the path struck into a little travelled highway partly 
grown up to grass. The country was wild and lonely, one 
of those rough mountain sides that had been run over by 
a great fire, and had grown up to bushes. Here and there, 
at long intervals, there was a rude clearing, and the cabin 
of a wood-chopper, or an Irish settler. The way was 
vague and spectral, and dim in the night, and Yirginie felt 
less protected than she had done in the thick wood, but 
Hector was still trotting cheerfully along beside her, won¬ 
dering, perhaps, in Ins canine mind, as to the meaning of 
this strange, nocturnal excursion, but determined to see it 
out. 
The air freshened as it drew toward morning, but exer¬ 
cise over the hard road brought the blood into her chilly 
finger tips. She wondered that so much life still remained 
in her, and at the strength of youth. She was not aware 
that in the darkness she had made a wrong turning. Her 
heart felt a little lighter as she tried to forget herself, and 
to urge her slow steps on, counting the trees, the crooked 
lines in the brush fences, and the dreary stone heaps. 
She tried vainly to estimate how many of these would 
make a mile, but with every device her progress was snail- 
like, and when the pallid dawn came up over the fields, re¬ 
vealing the dim outlines of this rugged country, she found 
herself in the edge of a clearing, where stumps and felled 
trees and piles of brush and corded wood were heaped con¬ 
fusedly together. 
A woolly mist began to curl up from the frosty earth, 
but there were as yet no weak red streaks in the east. 
Now the heaviness of her limbs, and the faintness in her 
brain made the thought of creeping in among the timber 
to rest awhile most grateful. Perhaps in an hour’s time 
some farmer would come along in his wagon, of whom she 
could beg a ride. If not, she would go over the fields and 
make a long detour to Hopedale, stopping at the first house 
to buy a piece of bread and a cup of milk. 
Yirginie crept in among the timber, and sought among 
the chips and dead leaves for a dry bit of ground. She 
folded her gray shawl closely about her, and made a pil¬ 
low of her little bag. Hector had been drawn away by the 
scent of some wild creature among the brush. At the 
moment when an irrepressible drowsiness, deep, sweet 
and dreamless, like oblivion, began to steal over Yirginie, 
there struck upon her dulled ear the sound of a man run¬ 
ning up the hill road with short, quick pants in his breath, 
his iron heel striking sharp sounds out of the flints. There 
was something menacing in the suond, and a thrill went 
through her and brought her to consciousness. She stag¬ 
gered up to her feet, peered around the corner of the tim¬ 
ber pile, and saw the man running along the road clearly 
in the early dawn—she saw what she could never forget 
to her dying day. His head was bare, and he had pulled 
off his coat and was carrying it upon his arm. He got 
over the ground with wonderful celerity. His eyes were 
blood-shot but watchful and alert, as if ready to stand at 
bay like a savage beast; but in his dark face there was the 
sinister, baleful light of triumph. In an instant, almost 
in the flash of an eye, he had passed. 
Yirginie stood reeling upon her feet, and raised her 
hands despairingly to her head, while a stifled cry broke 
from her heart. 
What had she done to leave the Hall unprotected, the 
door unbarred, to allow the watch-dog to follow her ? 
What had happened down there? Was it robbery, was 
it murder? Was Bradley wounded, dead perhaps, shot 
through the heart by that perfidious man, whom she had 
believed to be in hiding far away, but who like a fiend had 
waited and watched, and at last had accomplished his fell 
purpose. 
She knew she would be sought for now; there was no 
getting away. She would be accused and reviled, and 
must meet tliose she had wronged. She turned instinc¬ 
tively to go back, but there was a ringing in her ears, a 
confused throbbing in her brain. She sank to her knees 
and crept a little way along the ground, and then the 
blackness of darkness came over her, and she fell forward 
prone upon her face. 
The old Hall did' not get up very early of a morning. It 
was too slow and stately to bestir itself until sometime 
after sunrise. Winnie loved her luxurious morning nap, 
but on this November morning, which was sunless and 
gray, she seemed, in her dreams, to feel an ominous wave 
of excitement throb through the house. Drowsily she 
heard the opening and shutting of doors, the sound of hur¬ 
ried footsteps, the whispers of the women servants, and 
the deeper tones of the coachman and gardener, until sud¬ 
denly roused to the fact that something had gone wrong, 
she sprang to her feet, slipped into her dressing-gown, and 
opening her door confronted a group of terrified faces. 
Nanna began wringing her hands and vociferating: 
“ Oh, little Missy, don’t scole ole Nanna. I’se dat weak 
you could knock me ober wid a feder, honey.” 
“ Is Virginie worse ? ” cried Jinnie. “ Why in Hea¬ 
ven’s name didn’t you call me in the night?” 
“ ’Taint Miss Jinny, honey, she’s sleepin’ like a kitten 
in wool; but,” catching her breath, and turning a peculiar 
dusky pallor, she half-whispered, “it’s de safe in ole 
mass’rs room.” 
“ The burglars broke in last night,” said the gardener, 
cutting Nanna short, “and they have robbed the safe.” 
Winnie advanced into the hall without speaking. 
“ Robbed the safe,” she repeated at last, “ and not a soul 
of you were awakened by the noise ? ” 
“ Must have been de debble in carnal,” said Nanna, 
“ come stealin’ in wid a stockin’ on his cloven huff, for de 
souf door was wide open, an’ I locked it las night, an’ put 
up de chain good an’ fast.” 
Winnie looked about her half-bewildered, and at that 
moment Bradley hearing the unusual sounds, and anxious 
about Virginie, descended from his room on the floor above, 
while Mrs. Braithwaite, with an architectural night-cap on 
her head and her dress huddled all awry, came hastily out 
of her bedroom. 
“ The burglars were here last night,” said Winnie, ad¬ 
dressing Bradley, with her voice keyed high with excite¬ 
ment. “ and they have rifled the safe in papa’s room. Only 
two days ago I got home a considerable sum of money 
from the bank to pay for the new works at the mine. The 
place must have been shadowed who knows how long ? 
Poor old Hector, I wonder if they fed him poisoned 
meat ? ” 
Bradley was stunned even before he could take in the 
meaning of her words. He grasped the bannisters for 
support, and for a moment the power cf speech seemed 
absolutely gone. 
“ Oh, dear,” groaned Mrs. Braithwaite, sinking down 
heavily, like a middle-aged ungrammatical Cassandra, “ I 
always told you things would go wrong if you insisted on 
keeping strangers in the house, and now they has gone 
wrong.” 
“ Have you examined the safe to see how much is miss¬ 
ing ? ” Bradley asked, as he at last rallied his voice, though 
there was a deadly sinking at his heart. 
“ Come with me,” she exclaimed, and then turned and 
imperiously dismissed the servants : “ Go about your busi¬ 
ness at once; you need not idle here; Mr. Halcourt will 
do all that is necessary.” 
She ran to her father’s room, the long dark hair envel¬ 
oping her shoulders like a cloud. Mrs. Braithwaite came 
limping on behind into that chamber which, during her 
husband’s lifetime, she had never entered without dread. 
The safe door stood open, and only the large package of 
bank notes was missing; not even a tin box containing 
some valuable heirlooms of the Halcourt family had been 
touched, and all the papers remained in their places neatly 
docketed and tied up with red tape, just as the old judge 
had left them. Bradley bent down to examine the lock. 
It was perfect and entire. 
“ There are no signs of violence,” said he, slowly, 
“ neither of detonating powder or prying instruments. 
The person who opened this safe must have known the 
combination of the lock. Have you ever confided it to 
any one, Winnifred ? ” 
“ No; ” and then she started as the scene with Yirginie 
flashed back upon her mind. “Yes,” reluctantly, “I did 
tell Yirginie the numbers that she might help me remem¬ 
ber.” 
“ It’s that girl,” shrilled out Mrs. Braithwaite, exult¬ 
antly. “ I shouldn’t be a bit surprised, for I never had any 
kind of confidence in her.” 
“ You a^e wicked to say so,” cried Winnie, turning 
fiercely round upon her mother. “It is simply infamous 
to accuse a poor, defenceless, sick girl of a crime like this. 
I will venture my life upon it that Virginie knows no more 
of the robbery than I do. I will confront you with her, 
and prove to you that she is as innocent as an angel of 
light. If she tells me she has never confided this secret 
to another, I will believe'her against the whole world.” 
A gleam of adoring gratitude shot from Bradley’s eyes. 
He did justice to his cousin now; she was a noble crea¬ 
ture. But he was so sick at heart, so burdened with 
dread that he could scarcely follow Winnie as she ran to 
her friend’s door, and standing there in the passage with 
the heavy masses of her hair sweeping in a dark cloud 
around her, her face pale, and eyes glittering with excite¬ 
ment, she tapped on the panel. 
“ How soundly she sleeps ! ” She tapped louder. There 
was no summons. With a frightened face, glancing back 
at her cousin, she turned the handle. It yielded; the 
door opened, but the room was empty. Winnie stood, 
with Bradley and her mother behind her, as one stupified, 
gazing vacantly at the little white bed with its undinted 
pillows, the small neat table with a few flowers in a glass, 
the chair where she had sat looking so pale and pretty in 
her blue wrapper only last night. Then she raised her 
hands to her head with a groan, wrung out of her very 
soul, as the truth forced itself upon her. 
“ Tell me where she has gone,” she cried, turning des¬ 
perately upon Bradley. “You know very well she was 
sick and weak and could not walk far. She must have 
wandered off when the delirium came upon her in the 
night, aud we shall find her lying dead perhaps down by 
the lake, or under the trees. The idea of Yirginie rob¬ 
bing me is preposterous ”—taking refuge in a burst of 
scorn. “She know she could have anything I possess; 
